


Better Than Quidditch

by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/pseuds/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George finds more than he bargained for when he sneaks down to the dungeons. Not that he's complaining!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Quidditch

**Author's Note:**

> It was meant to be a drabble, but I got carried away.  
> This is written for [](http://hpgeorgecentric.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hpgeorgecentric.livejournal.com/)**hpgeorgecentric** 's drabble exchange. We're filling an alphabet of pairings for George and I grabbed Draco. (Grabbing Draco - the mental images – I do love them!) **Prompt:** Smartypants  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hogwarts or its inhabitants. Jo lets me borrow and I'm grateful.  
> 

Better Than Quidditch

George loved Quidditch. He loved watching almost as much as playing. Even Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff. But sometimes there were things that needed to be done while the rest of the school was occupied with watching Ernie MacMillan get a Bludger in the nuts. Snape was refereeing the match so it was the perfect time to raid his store for ingredients.

He slipped silently down to the dungeons, wishing that they hadn't given that map to Harry, wishing that Fred hadn't picked the longer straw. Once inside the cupboard and filling his pockets he relaxed a little. He pushed up his sleeve and checked the list he had written on the soft, pale skin between his wrist and the inside of his elbow. Just one small scoop of Kelpies' eyeballs and he would be done.

He turned to scan the shelf-labels and jumped with surprise. The door was now open and standing silently beside it was Draco Malfoy. He was smirking like he'd just been voted Most Well Endowed by Witch Weekly.

George swore and his mind blanked. The Slytherin Prince had just caught him red-handed. He couldn't think of any way out of this. So he swore again.

“Not clever,” Malfoy purred. “But then nothing you've ever done has been clever, has it, Weasley?”

Anger heated George's blood. He wanted to give the smug snob a rundown on just how clever he really was, just how much he and Fred had got away with over the years, just how difficult their products were to make, just how good they were at stealing the ingredients, or tapping the black market for them, just how big their plans were and how complicated their business plan. However, handing over all that information would have been one of the most stupid things he had ever done, so, though his face flamed red, his mouth stayed shut. He started thinking through possible bribes instead.

When George didn't answer, Malfoy added, “Your whole family are stupid.” George bit his tongue. “That's probably why you're so poor!” George pressed his lips together, clenched his jaw and concentrated on his breathing. This bastard already had motivation enough for fucking up his life, insulting him would not help matters.

So why not try a compliment?

George assessed the figure in the doorway, at the curl on his lip and the hand on his hip, and was surprised at how easy it actually was to come up with something nice to say about him:

“Those robes are really well cut. Where did you get them from?”

The certainty painting Malfoy's face slipped away. “They're standard Malkin school robes,” he muttered. A cute frown formed on his forehead. And he was cute, surprisingly cute.

George shrugged. “Must be the way you wear them.”

Draco's sharp nose pointed downwards as he regarded his own body with curiosity.

“Or maybe you are just a really nice shape.”

Grey eyes looked up quickly then, searchingly. He was waiting for the punch-line. His lips pushed out in a sulky pout. George left him like that for a moment, because he looked adorable.

“Just saying,” George said eventually.

“Saying what?” Malfoy checked warily.

“How attractive you are.” George did not pause, hurrying on before the younger boy could reply. “Smart, too, clever enough to find me here. How did you?”

Draco preened. “Detection spells. They are rather complicated, so I won't confuse you with details.”

George was a little worried at that. Maybe the Slytherin shit was a bit bright after all.

“You think I'm attractive?” Malfoy checked, as though he found that hard to believe. Which was daft.

George answered as casually as he could manage, “Yeah, but that's just me. I happen to like slim, intelligent, good-looking blonds.” He had nearly said 'pretty', but it was probably better not to voice that word.

The heir of Darkness looked completely wrong-footed. His poise slipped. As his shining eyes roamed over George's face he breathed deeply.

Finally he replied with, “That's a coincidence.”

George cocked one questioning ginger eyebrow.

“Because I've always had a thing for Beaters.” There was a solid silence in the small space until Malfoy completed his thought with, “Must be the muscles.”

It was hard to tell who had moved first, but the door was slammed shut and Malfoy's body was pressed between it and George before either of them was conscious of having made a decision. George's strong thighs were soon between Draco's slender ones, his hands against Draco's shoulders and his lips on Draco's lips.

Pale, delicate fingers pushed roughly into ginger hair, hips thrust towards each other and once George had stroked the hard bulge at the other boy's groin, they were both lost to everything except lust.

Their tongues danced against each other, slipping out of each other's mouths to wet each other's chins and cheeks. Draco groaned loudly, scrabbling at George's robes, trying to pull them up, but clumsy in his desire, just bunching them and dropping them. George took control; he unbuttoned Draco's robes and shoved them from his shoulders to the floor. He gasped at the expanse of flawless, white skin that was exposed. Then he released Malfoy's dark, hot, throbbing manhood from the skimpy black underwear that had been trying to confine it.

Draco made an unintelligible choking noise, throwing his head back and wantonly licking his lips. George pulled up with one slow stroke. Then he yanked up his own robes and guided Draco's hand to his cock. The Dark Prince needed no other direction, gripping firmly and setting the pace with steady, rhythmic, wrist movements.

George's robes clung to their perspiring bodies as they panted burning breath onto each other's necks. Draco began to whine and his eyes rolled back, then he was spurting onto George's skin. At the first splash, George felt his whole body clench and then he was coming too, in waves of passionate joy.

George got back up to the Entrance Hall, just as the spectators started to stream in from the Quidditch pitch. He allowed himself to be caught up in the crowd of bodies. It had been a good match, apparently, entertainingly violent. He wasn't sorry to have missed it.

Lee pushed through towards him and George gave him a wink. His pockets were still weighed down with his loot. Only then did he remember: he never had picked up those Kelpie eyeballs.


End file.
